


Rather Die

by outofthedeck



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One), Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers Animated (2007)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Gen, It's Not Paranoia If They're Really Out To Get You, Spies, and i make all of your favs spies, and that one, because i love the whole 'jazz is head of spec ops' thing, but spies, even if they dont do much spying on the enemy, except that one, honestly i take cannon from all different universes and shape them how i wish, no cannon is safe, ok so not really, spies are cool
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-01-13
Updated: 2018-07-04
Packaged: 2019-03-04 03:28:24
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 9,879
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13355544
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/outofthedeck/pseuds/outofthedeck
Summary: An attack on Tyger Pax moves the Special Operations division to Iacon, where they face alienation, pranks, and worst of all, an actual command structure.But it's all fun and games until someone turns on you.





	1. Homecoming

**Author's Note:**

> HELLO
> 
> Hi. This is going to be a medium-length fic (I hope). I try to be as straightforward as possible as to what's cannon in this universe but if anything confuses you, just hmu. I take a lot from fannon but some plot points are taken from tf:a and most characterizations are taken from idw. 
> 
> **ALso just jsyk: this story WILL have SPOILERS for tf:a. you have been forewarned.**
> 
> title taken from the song 'rather die' - barnes courtney

If there was one thing the Prime had to choose as his favourite ideal, it was that of unity. Which was why he was having his Special Operation division moved back to Iacon after it was moved to Tyger Pax.

 

Jazz recommended the first move, saying that if all the departments were together, then an attack could wipe out the whole command structure. Optimus could tell there was another reason he wasn’t telling, but didn’t say anything about it.

 

Prowl argued vehemently against it, stating several reasons against it, including the higher likelihood of leaks. However, Optimus reluctantly gave the go ahead, and Jaz relocated his team to Tyger Pax. And for a while, Prowl was proven wrong.

 

It was only when the reports of a major Decepticon attack on Pax started coming in, did Optimus wish he never sent them away in the first place.

 

* * *

 

The ship carrying the spec-ops team would be arriving soon and Jazz had made clear not to make it a big spectacle. Apparently, the team of spies gets nervous in the spotlight. Who would of thought.

 

So, the Prime closed off Loading Bay 2C to everyone except most of the command team and a small group of medics, led by Ratchet who would have been there regardless, ready to receive the two wounded mechs.

 

To his left stood Ultra Magnus, obviously in thought. No one could read the stoic commander like the Prime, and Optimus could tell Magnus was nervous. They had gotten little information from the team, only a cryptic message saying have two med berths ready.

 

Optimus shook himself of those thoughts and instead turned to Magnus. “Is his office ready?” he asked. Magnus turned a little to look at him while still keeping an eye on the hangar door.

 

“Commander Jazz’s office is... currently undergoing final preparations.”

 

“The soundproofing?”

 

“Soundproofing among other methods of concealment.” Optimus nodded. Jazz had sent over a list of requirements he wanted for his office as soon as they were alerted of the plans to return to Iacon and crews have been working non-stop trying to bring it up to par.

 

The opening of the bay doors drew everyone’s attention as Prowl helped guide the contused ship into the large room. Scorch marks and dents covered the hull, and at least on of the five engines were destroyed judging by the way it leans to the right. All signs of battle damage.

 

As soon as the landing gear hit the floor, the medical team was in motion. A blur of red and white whizzed by with two anti-grav berths carrying two mechs. Medical jargon filled the air. Optimus managed to glance at the two mechs, trying to discern if they were Jazz. And while they weren’t, the reality wasn’t much better.

 

The two mechs were ones he recognized. Bumblebee’s bright yellow paint was dirty, and his frame looked warped and twisted. He was the first to be rushed off to the med-bay with Ratchet taking the lead.

 

The bright blue paint of Blurr was more recognisable. His legs were the only thing different. They were damaged in a way that showed extraneous use even after a major injury. However painful it must be, he was still conscious. And next to his berth was where he found Jazz.

 

His smooth voice filled the audios of only those that were paying enough attention. He was speaking softly to Blurr and holding his hand. Blurr, for his part, just grimaced and nodded, obviously biting back a whimper as the medics worked on him. “I’ve never seen you so quiet. Ya wanna talk to me? Tell me you’re still alive?”

 

“I’llbefine. How’sBee? Ishegoingtomakeit?” Blurr’s already fast words were strained and harder to understand, but he got his point across. And Optimus put two and two together. Jazz looked to one of the medics for an answer, but they were tied up with trying to stabilize Blurr for transport. Instead, he spotted the Prime and straightened. Even Blurr tried to sit up in a sign of respect before a medic stopped him and administered a drug.

 

“Sir?”

 

Optimus turned to Jazz for a second, acknowledging him, before turning back to Blurr. “Agent Blurr?” The mech nodded. His optics were more dull, a sign that the drugs were kicking in. “Thank you. For what you did. We have the best team of medics looking after him.”  Blurr nodded again, a little more relaxed, before the smaller team of medics took his to the medbay. Once the medics were gone, the remaining six mechs turned their optics to Optimus, but Jazz spoke first after a moment of uncomfortable silence.

 

“So, introductions, right?” A few looked at him like he was crazy but no one stopped him. “As most o’ you guys know, those two were ‘Bee ‘n’ Blurr.” A sad look flashed across his face, but was gone before most mechs noticed.

 

Magnus either didn’t notice or didn’t deem it important. “What happened to them?” Jazz smiled a tight smile.

 

“Tha’s not my story to tell, sir.” Mangus’ eye twitched. He wasn’t used to not having his questions answered. And the head of Special Operations was the master of beating around the bush. He turned to the two mechs next to him, obviously trying to change the subject away from his injured teammates. “These’re my mechs. Hound’s th’ weapons ‘n’ comms.” The larger, greener of the two mechs did a sloppy two finger salute that made Magnus’ frown deepen. “An’ Smokey over there's a damn good spy and an expert at distractions.” A small wave from the skinny silver mech met the command team. From the corner of his eye, Optimus hid a smile when he saw Ironhide wave back.

 

“And there's Mirage-” Jazz looked around the bay. “He's ‘round here somewhe-”

 

“Coast is clear boss.” A small blue hand appeared on Jazz’s shoulder, quickly materializing into a blue mech. The tension in the room increased twofold.  

 

“Where'd ‘e come from?” Ironhide stepped up.

 

“Relax, ‘Hide. He’s with me.” Jazz put a hand on Mirage’s chest while holding a hand out to stop Ironhide. Optimus stepped forward.

 

“Lets step back and calm down. Mirage is one of us. I know him personally.” Ironhide begrudgingly backed up to where the others were standing.

 

“We’re missin’ one.” Hound looked at Jazz.

 

“Yeah. You are.” A brown mech walked out of the transport. “Everyone always forgets the pilot.” Jazz smiled and pulled the new mech into a side hug.

 

“My mechs, this’s my second, Longarm.”

 

Longarm smiled a friendly smile.  “Prime, sir. It's nice to finally meet you.”

 

* * *

 

 

The medbay was quiet. The chief medical officer, Ratchet apparently, had most of his team of medics with him in the operating room while they worked on Bee.

 

Oh Primus, Bee. The poor scout had been in the middle of the fray.

 

And with his rather _unique_ paint job, it was no wonder that Starscream was able to recognize him for who he was. Being tortured by Megatron is awful, but to be tortured by a _rushed_   Megatron is worse on so many levels.

 

If only had been faster. If only he-

 

Blurr’s leg twitched and he instinctively tried to pull away from the apprentice medic working on it.

 

“Sorry.” The voice was meek even though the grip on his leg was strong enough to keep him from pulling away.

 

Blurr didn't respond. He just went back to watching the doors of the operating room. Enjoying the quiet. At least, until someone touched his arm, causing him to jump.

 

“Woah, relax Blurr.” Mirage laughed and materialized next to the berth, emitting a small gasp from the small medic. “I didn’t expect you to jump three meters.” Blurr for his part just relaxed back down on the berth. Mirage sank down in the chair next to him. “I also didn’t expect the medbay to be this quiet. Usually you can’t stand still and/or are talking the audios off the medics working on you.” He leaned forward. “So, whats up?”

 

Blurr just glared at him before turning back to the closed door. Mirage understood. “Oooh. I get it.”

 

“Doyou? DoyougetitMirage? Didyouseehimthereunderthatdamnfootwaiting _begging_ todielikesomeonehisage _shouldn’t_ bebegginglikedoyouunderstandMirage _doyou?_ ” The words spilled out faster than anyone could process them, getting angier with every syllable. “IwastheonethathadtocarrythekidbackafterIwastoldtogosavehimbutIcouldn’tsavehimMirageIcouldn’tsavehim.”

 

Mirage heard all of it, used to the high speeds his friend talked at. “Blurr-”

 

The door Blurr was watching finally opened and all eyes fell to the exhausted medic standing in the doorway, whose own optics scanned the room until they fell on the two spies.

 

“He’s alive.” was the only update they got before the surly medic was gone again.

 

* * *

 

 

The door closed behind Optimus, who motioned for everyone to have a seat before moving to his own seat at the head of the table. The eyes of his commanders and their seconds were on him. His eyes were on one mech.

 

“Jazz. Your report, if you would.” Jazz nodded and stood.

 

“At approximately 2306 hours, the Paxian’s proximity alarms went off. The city was overrun in less than an hour. All comms in and out of the city were blocked. My team fought bravely, but I assigned them a different mission.”

 

“‘To transfer or delete any and all sensitive information on your databases.’” Prowl quoted.

 

“Exactly. All data we needed was downloaded to our processors before deleted. After our base of operations was cleared out, I ordered my men to evacuate themselves. We were separated in the frenzy. Agent Bee was captured and interrogated. Agent Blurr was closest to his position so I sent him for a retrieval.”

 

Ironhide interrupted him. “You sent an injured mech to save an injured mech?”

 

“No! Blurr never told me he was hurt. An’ if I knew, you sure as _Pit_ I would _never_ have sent him into a dangerous situation!”

 

“Jazz.” Optimus spoke up before Jazz could continue. “Nobody was insinuating that.”

 

“Oh I’m _pretty sure_ -”

 

“Jazz.” Longarm quietly spoke up from beside Jazz. They seemed to have a silent conversation before Jazz back off.

 

“Yeah. Yeah.” He took a deep breath. “Sorry, ‘Hide. ‘S been a long day.”

 

“One can only imagine.” Optimus spoke up again. “Jazz?”

 

“Right. So we fight our way through the ‘Cons. Meet up outside the city, southside. We have-had- a transport hidden there. So we loaded up, treated the two best we could, and sent a communiqué alerting you of our status.”

 

“But you leave out an important detail: How did the Decepticons know about your team and their location?” Red Alert asked. Jazz just took another deep breath, 

 

“I will have my _full report_ with _all_ of the details to _Prowl_ be the end of tomorrow.” Jazz said. “But right now, I would like to check on my men, have some energon, and lay down on a berth for a few hours, if you don’t mind.” Jazz snapped. Red Alert’s response was interrupted by the Prime.

 

“Of course, Jazz. Go. Check on Bumblebee and Blurr. Go rest. And tell your mechs to rest as well. Dismissed.” And like that, Jazz was gone. Longarm lowered his head respectively before following his superior into the hallway. As soon as the door closed, Red Alert huffed.

 

“When did he become so rude? I don’t remember him being like this.”

 

“I also remember him differently.” Magnus spoke up. “He had more respect for the _chain of command_ before he left.”

  
  
“He did just almost lose damn near half his division. He's allowed to be a little stressed.” Ironhide defended. Red Alert let out a short laugh.

 

“Ha! You call that a _division?_ I hardly call four mechs a _division._ That is a _team._ A division, like _security_  for example, has hundreds in its ranks.”

 

“With th’ amount of information they get, you’d think y’all would be a bit more appreciative. Riskin’ their hides like that to get the info we need to _win_.”

 

“Didn’t you call him out no less than _five minutes ago_ for doing something no respectable commander would do?” Red Alert accused. Ironhide huffed.

 

“I asked for confirmation. There's a difference.”

 

“Everyone, please.” Optimus put a stop to their gossiping. “This matter is not up for discussion. I have my reasons for keeping Special Operations a division, just as Jazz has his reasons for keeping a small circle.”

 

“A small circle of trustworthy comrades would prove leeks more improbable. It's easier to trust someone you know. And it is easier to know six mechs instead of five hundred.” Prowl reasoned. “Trust is vital in his line of work.”

 

“Exactly. Jazz has his reasons." Optimus stood up to address his command team. "And his division, or team, or whichever you choose to call it, will be treated with utmost trust and respect. Am I clear?” A chorus of ‘yessir’s met the Prime’s mini-speech. “Good. Make it clear to your own mechs. Dismissed.” Everyone filed out of the room until it was just Optimus and Ultra Magnus.

 

“This will not be easy, Prime. Most of our troops have a hard time trusting newcomers. Having them trust new mechs that are also _spies_ will prove difficult.”

 

“Yes, Magnus. It will.”

* * *

It took a little while for the base to settle down. But every day must end. The lights in the base will be dimmed so only the night crews scan see. All other mechs will head to their hab suites to recharge. All will fall silent.

 

In the lull of the night however, a spy reassesses their current circumstances.

 

And a message is sent.  

 

_-Update: Infiltration of Iacon Successful_

 

_-..._

 

_-Query: Orders?_

 


	2. Trouble Makers

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Smokescreen makes some friends and Mirage stirs up trouble only a few hours into their stay. 
> 
> And Jazz is tired.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So just to let you guys know, I don't ship people a lot and all references to ships I make are most often jokes unless otherwise said. Like I make a Hound/Mirage joke but I don't really ship them. If u do and wanna see it that way then cool but I personally don't.
> 
> Also I tried to keep this chapter about characters I don't often write about so if the characterization isn't what ur used to then I'm sorry. This is how they're gonna be in this story. 
> 
> Alright get ta reading.

Iacon’s base had to be at least twice the size of _Tyger Pax_. The _city_.

Back in Pax, the seven spies all shared two quarters. Of course, a door was added between the rooms so they could travel between the two without going into the hallway. Whether or not the base commander knew about the makeshift merging isn’t relevant.

What _is_ relevant is that Mirage is standing in a habsuite he shares with Hound. No one else. And this one is at least twice the size of one of their old quarters.

What’s _really relevant_ is that their team is scattered in rooms like this all over the huge base. They have been separated.

And Mirage is on a mission to find out just whose great idea that was. Whether or not they see him coming is not his problem.

He walks out into the hallway when Hound leaves and begins his hunt. 

* * *

 

Smokescreen flopped down onto his berth. _His_ berth! He gets his own berth, and even his own _room_! At least until Bee’s back in action.

“My own room!” he still couldn't believe it. “What do people do when they have their own rooms?” He sat up and looked at the computer on the empty desk in the corner, but then remembered Jazz’s orders _not to start spying on our own people_. Apparently, being on the same base as the Prime means security is beefed up. And everyone’s more uptight. So he abandoned that plan and flopped down onto the bed again. “I’m bored. Bored, bored bored bored _booooooooored_. Booooooooooooooored. _Boooooooooooooooooooooooor_ -”

A loud bang from the wall interrupted him. “Primus, glitch, just shut up already! Some mechs’re tryin to sleep!”

Smokescreen huffed. “Rude.” He climbed out of his berth and opened the door into the hallway. “Well, there’s gotta be _something_ to do on this Primus forsaken base.”

The mess hall seemed the best place to start. As he walked, he whistled a happy tune much to the chagrin of almost every mech he passed in the hall. Most were coming off of day shift duty and were understandably tired and irritable. But a few waved back when he waved at them, and one or two even engaged him in conversation. It was mostly questions about who he was and how he was ‘adjusting’, whatever that meant. One gave him directions to the mess hall and he continued making his way across the base.

Almost half an hour later, Smokescreen was thoroughly lost but at the mess hall. Or one of them at least. This one was the first on he came across but according to the mech who gave him directions, there were five of them spread out over the base. Different cliques go to different ones.

The one he was in was mostly empty save a few couples who were quietly enjoying their food and a large group in the corner that was unusually quiet for its size. Smokescreen, now curious, grabbed a cube and sat as close as what he deduced was socially acceptable and listened to the whispers.

“The new group of spec-ops arrived yesterday, did’ja hear?”

“Did ya get a good look at ‘em?”

“I don’ think anyone did. But I heard from Gears that at least one of them turns invisible.”

“Yeah! I heard that! And one’s a triple-changer!”

“Did you see that for yourself?”

“N-no. But-”

“Did you see who was in the medbay, though? Blurr! Like, the Blurr! The racer? No one?”

“No one cares about your crush.”

“He’s not my crush. But he is the fastest bot on Cybertron, though. I just wanna race ‘im.”

“ _Cruuuuuush_ …”

A gossip group then. Smokescreen can dig it. He grabbed his barely touched cube and walked over to the group, squeezing in between two mechs. “Not with the way his legs were.” He said as he took a sip. Everyone was staring at him. “What?”

“Who the hell are you?” A golden mech yelled. Smokescreen paused. He was banking on them not recognizing him. So far so good.

“Call me Smokey.”

“You a new recruit, or somethin’?” New recruit? Oh yeah, Iacon just recently received reinforcements from...somewhere. Praxus, he thinks.

“Not a recruit, but yeah, I’m new to Iacon. Was hoping to find some info. You guys seemed the best place to start.”

“You know anything about the shadow team that just arrived?” The red mech that was talking about Blurr earlier spoke up again.

“The what?”

“See? He doesn’t know anything.” The mech that yelled at him when he sat down still didn’t seem to like them.

“Woah woah woah. I know stuff. Just not who the ‘shadow team’ are.” Was that what they were calling his team? Not as creative as it could be.

“You know, the ghosts, the shadow-players.” A new mech spoke this time and Smokescreen looked at him with the same blank stare.

“The special operations team?” He asked.

“Yeah, them.” Smokescreen huffed.

“Of course I know about them. I even saw them, once. In battle, I mean.” He smiled when everyone leaned forward, suddenly interested, and at that moment, he knew he’d just been accepted into this little group.

Smokescreen was an intelligence agent, and sometimes that intelligence has to come from locals and their gossip. He was excellent at deciphering actual information from complete bullshit. And he enjoyed the little perks that come from infiltrating these little groups, especially when the topic’s his friends. Gotta gain their trust to get information and to do that requires giving some of his.

“I heard that the big one and the blue one, one that can turn invisible, are, like, inseparable.” He smiled a devious smile. “Back in Praxus, I even heard one mech saying that they were bonded.” His audience was lapping up his little white lies even if he knew that Hound and Mirage were going to murder him when they found out. If they found out.

 

 

* * *

 

Getting into this... _Prowl’s_ office was easier than expected. For a mech of his status, he didn't exactly have a lot of security systems. He only needed to quickly slip through the door as one if his subordinates went to deliver a report, or something of the sort.

Getting into the Iacon computer undetected was the hard part.

The head tactician _never_ leaves his office. _Ever_.

So Mirage had to wait in the back corner of the office for hours until his shift was over.

And even then, Prowl stayed later than planned because of something one of his subordinates brought him. A large equation Mirage recognised as a battle plan. The usual target in these types of situations he finds himself in.

But no. He wasted his first day off in cycles on spying on a mech to change his friends’ quarters.

When he put it like that, it sounded rather mundane. And stupid. Mostly stupid.

But it was too late to back out now. Prowl finally left, some call about a gambling ring that Mirage only half heard. But he was gone and his computer was wide open. Except for the probably heavy security.

But all tacticians think the same. Hack one computer, you hack ‘em all.

Even still, it wasn't all too hard. He's hacked Decpticon computers with more security. But they still have an extreme amount which will require he go into the cloud instead of using the computer. So he plugged in and got to work.

Surprisingly, Prowl wasn't the one who assigned the rooms. It was one ‘Red Alert’. The head of Security. Which was odd, but made sense the more Mirage thought about it.

He began to reassign rooms until he met another presence in the mainframe. And this someone traced him from where he carelessly triggered an alarm.

He's been caught.

Mirage _never_ gets caught.

Uncertain what to do, he began fighting back, trying to shove the other mech out. He threw codes and counter-codes as the other mech returned with the same fervor. Mirage has met his match, and with the added effect of not recharging after a big battle, he wasn’t fighting with everything he had. He was losing.

The other mech was about to trap him in the computer, meaning he would have to stay trapped until released or risk damaging his processor. Mirage had to retreat. So he did. He backed out of the computer as quickly as possible, ignoring the processor-ache it was causing. When he was finally out, he disconnected from the port and jumped away from the computer, breathing heavily.

“Freeze!” A deep voice called from a mere meter away. Mirage turned towards the voice.

He was met with alarms and a blaster in his faceplate and a very angry looking mech behind it. He raised his hands in an obvious surrender.

 

* * *

 

 

Smokescreen was having the time of his life. At some point, one mech brought out some illegal, homemade high-grade stolen from the chief medical officer. His little gossip group quickly turned into a gambling group.

And he learned the hard way that neither were allowed on the base.

After the high grade was broken out, most of the other mechs left the mess hall. Only a few stubborn souls determined to finish their energon and their conversations stayed. But one got a little too determined and called security.

“What is going on in here?” All the mechs turned to the entrance of the hall to see a mech Smokescreen recognized as Prowl and a few security mechs. All fell quiet

Smokescreen inadvertently met Prowl’s optics. For an astrosecond, they stared, fully aware who each other was.

The blaring sound of the intruder alarms blared through the mess hall’s silence and broke the silence. The security mechs escorted the group of overcharged mechs out while trying to stop the fleeing ones. Prowl, however, had his optics on his target: Smokescreen.

Smokescreen smiled at Prowl nervously before a hand tugged him out of sight. The red mech that brought the high grade, Side-something, pulled him behind a pillar and pinned him against the wall. Next to him stood the golden mech that (he thinks) hates him.

“So, why is Prowl after you?” Side-something asked with genuine curiosity instead of the vitriolically he was expecting to go with being shoved against a wall. He even let go when Smokescreen shrugged him off

“We...have history.” Red -Smokescreen decided to call him- gasped while Gold rolled his eyes.

“Is it... _romantic_?” Red wiggled his eyebrows

“Oh, Primus no. _Pit_ no.” Smokescreen almost yelled. “Besides, not my type.” Red stopped listening though, instead focused on his friend.

“The rooms emptying. We gotta go. Like, now.” Smokescreen heard Gold whisper to Red.

“Fine. But we can't leave him to Prowl.“ Gold glared at his friend who just returned with a pleading look.

“Fine. We can take your little friend.”

“Take me where?” Smokescreen butted in, mostly asking Red but accepting anything at this point. Instead of answering, Gold hit the wall next to Smokescreen, who flinched away from the punch. But instead of leaving a dent, one of the panels was dislodged. Gold pried it off the wall to reveal an old repair tunnel.

“This leads to an observation deck. Just stay on my ass, ok?” Goldie knelt down and crawled in. Red smiled and motioned for Smokescreen to follow. Not really comfortable being in between strangers but unwilling to blow his makeshift ‘cover’, he crawled into the hole.

As soon as Red replaced the wall panel, the tunnel’s white light was replaced with an eerie red pulsating glow. The alarms were still going off. Smokescreen just kept crawling and followed the now deep orange figure in front of him.

“Kinda tight, doncha think?” He said, mostly to Red, but Gold answered instead.

“The tunnel was made for service bots, back before the war. The soldiers and cops that were stationed here before the Prime moved us in didn't care whether or not the lowly mech’s method of transportation was comfortable.” At the dark change in subject, Smokescreen fell quiet. He wasn't alive long before the war broke out, and he suspected that neither have the two mechs he was with. He didn’t know what life was like before the war, or what it could have been for him had the war not happened. One can only imagine.

The three of them crawled in uncomfortable silence, and eventually darkness when the alarms were shut off. Red made a comment about it being “another false alarm”. Smokescreen just wondered if they were going to make it out in the near future.

After almost ten minutes of crawling through a maze of tunnels, Gold finally stopped and pushed out another wall panel. It opened to a huge observation deck covered wall to wall with murals. The place was a mess, the floor covered with an assortment of just... _things_. Weapons, parts of weapons, gear, empty energon cubes, rations, blankets, pillows, and even a few beds pushed together to make a mega-bed with the word “mega-bed” hastily painted above it. There were also a handful of cables hanging from beams running along the open ceiling, which looked half finished itself. The place looked like a couple of teenagers lived there, which brought Smokescreen back to the two mechs that brought him there.

“This is-ooff” Goldie shoved Smokescreen against the nearest wall with his arm against his neck.

“Sunny, what the Pit?” Red yelled but didn't do anything to get ‘Sunny’ off.

“Who are you? I know ‘Smokey’ isn't your real name. So what is? How do you know Prowl? Why were you running from him?” The mech got angrier with every question. Smokescreen finally shoved the golden mech off him. ‘Sunny’ tried to attack again but Red held him back. He rubbed his neck while he spoke.

“My name-damn that hurt- My name isn't Smokey, that's true.”

“Then what is?” Red asked. He was calmer than Goldie, but not by much now that Smokescreen admitted he lied. “Are you even an Au-”

“Of course I'm an Autobot. I'm not a ‘con spy, if that's what your asking.”

“But you are a spy?” The gold mech eyed him suspiciously.

“What? No! I never said-”

“But you didn't _not_ say it.” Red argued. “You said you weren't a ‘ _Con_ spy.”

“Smokescreen.” The mech in question looked at Goldie. “You’re Smokescreen, aren’t you?”

“How did you-”

“Look, despite what almost everyone else thinks and says, we aren't stupid.” Smokescreen didn’t know how to respond to that so he looked to the one who actually seemed friendly.

Red looked unreadable. “You're one of Jazz’s mechs?” Smokescreen nodded reluctantly. Most mechs, especially front liners like these two, thought spies shouldn't be trusted, no matter what side they were on. They thought that they spent too much time in enemy territory to be completely trusted. He didn’t have many fans.

“I am.” He said carefully.

“Could you teach us to be spies?” Smokescreen’s intakes sputtered, and he heard the gold mech’s do the same.

“What?” They asked Red at the same time.

“Intelligence. We wanna know how to gather intelligence.”

“But- why would you want-”

“We don’t need this guy.”

Red looked at Goldie. “C’mon, Sunny. How many time have we been in situations where we could get some of the ‘Con’s...stuff? Only, we didn’t know _how_ to get it? Or what we should even be looking for? This is our _chance_ to prove that we aren’t just cannons!” Red was passionate, and he made his speech with enough determination that Smokescreen was almost ready to accept it right then and there.

“Look, guys, I'm barely an agent myself. I mean, you guys caught me. How am I sup-”

“Teach us, and we’ll keep your secret. We won't tell anyone. Only let them figure it out for themselves.”

“What do you guys even want to know?”

“The basics. Like how to hack, how to go undercover, all that jazz.” Smokescreen ignored the obvious pun and thought it over. By the time his first battle at Iacon happens, everyone will know who the intelligence mechs are. But the couple of days of secrecy might come in handy.

“Deal. Now, tell me about all this.” Smokescreen pushed himself off the wall and gestured to the room they were in.

“This was the sorta ‘hang out’ spot for all the workers who, ya know, worked here ‘before the war. After the army moved in, this place was cut off from the rest of the base. See?” red gestured to the doors across the huge room. They were half open and instead of a hallway they opened into a wall. “The doors don’t even work. This whole place was abandoned ‘til me ‘n’ Sunny found it.”

Smokescreen stopped and turned back to the two. “What are your names, anyways? Forgot them after Prowl showed up.”

Red spoke up again. “Oh, yeah. Sorry. I’m Sideswipe. And this is my brother, Sunshi-”

“Sunstreaker.” Goldie interrupted.

”Wait, you guys are brothers? I thought-” Sideswipe interrupted him again

“Spark twins. Me and Sunny are stuck together.”

“Well, that’s a new development. But you guys don’t-”

“ _Change the subject._ ” Sunstreaker growled.

“Alright, alright. Touchy subject, I feel ya.” Smokescreen turned away from the twins. “So, no one else knows about this place?”

“Nope! This is our little secret hangout.” Sideswipe jumped in next to Smokescreen as he walked around the room checking things out.

“If that’s true, who did the murals?” Smokescreen had a theory to test.

Sideswipe smiled at his brother. “That was aaaaall Sun-” Smokescreen’s theory proved correct as Sunstreaker grabbed his brother and shoved him to the ground.

 

* * *

 

 

“Why do you keep lookin’ at the ceilin’?” It was asked as politely, but Jazz could tell Ironhide was getting irritated.

“I’m waiting.” Was the simple response. Ironhide huffed. A moment passed between the two as Jazz took a sip of his energon.

“You really gonna make me ask?”

“Yup.”

Ironhide sighed and put his cube down. “Fine. Why, oh great master of all knowledge, are you starin’ at the ceiling like it's ‘bout to answer all yer prayers?” Jazz smiled at his friend’s sarcasm.

“Their record to beat is two days. And that was in Pax. I'm guessin’ it'll take ‘em less than half o’ that.”

“What in Primus’ name are you talkin’ ‘bout?”

“How long it will take before one o’ my mechs spazzes out the security chief enough to make ‘im set off th’ intruder alarm.” Ironhide laughed.

“Ha! I'm surprised with Red in charge they didn't already set it off!” Jazz frowned.

“How is the new security chief? He any good? What happened to whats-his-name? Night-something?” He rattled his processor, trying to come up with the name of the old security chief but Ironhide beat him to it.

“Nightshift. And he was relocated after we ‘scovered he was kinda...terrible in security. And that's the nice way if putting it.”

“And what's the not nice way if putting it?”

“Ask Red. Two days though? Who was it?”

“Hound. Used one o’ his projections of ‘imself and freaked out security, made ‘em think there was a ‘con acting as ‘im.” Ironhide hummed.

“Idda thought it’d be the one that turns invisible. Seems like thatta freak a few mechs out.”

“Oh, security chief didn’t even know ‘Raj was on the base till a few weeks later.” Ironhide laughed again.

“Primus! Red’ll glitch if he ever hears ‘bout that!” The intruder alarms cut off Jazz’s response and all the mechs in the mess hall groaned. But Jazz just smiled and looked at his chronometer.

“That'll be them.” He stood up and motioned for Ironhide to join him. “You comin’?”

“Naw. I’d rather enjoy my drink ‘fore Prowl ‘n’ Red start tearin’ inta each other.”

“Suit yourself.” And Jazz was off to the security office to collect his mech before he even got the summons.

 

* * *

 

 

The doors to the security office slid open and immediately Jazz was bombarded with tension.

“I’m saying get your lackeys in order.” Jazz smiled at Prowl’s voice. The mech is usually calm and collected, but can have quite the temper. The voice that followed was new, however.

“And _I’m_ saying that maybe you can help out a little around the base instead of holing up in your office, _sir_!” The smaller security chief didn’t have a small voice. He may have been relatively new to his position but Red Alert talked like he's been there for ages. 

“I’m head of _Tactical_ , not an Enforcer!”

“Well, with that paint job, one can never be too sure, Prowler.” Everyone in the room turned to Jazz, including Mirage who got lucky enough not to be put in a holding cell but was wearing a pair of stasis cuffs. It was quite the sight. “Sportin’ a new look, ‘Raj?”

Mirage smiled bitterly and held up his bound wrists. “Haven’t ya heard, boss? Cuffs are in now.” Jazz turned to the security chief.

“You must be Red Alert. I’m Jazz.” The two mechs shook hands. The look Jazz was getting from Red Alert was less than trusting.

But he would give anything to go back to the awkward handshake if it meant not listening to the spiel Red Alert gave. It was almost word for word of what the other security mech said back in Tyger Pax only the charges were different. And after a while, the grating voice gets irritating. But finally they got to the actual charges.

“Hacking and cyber-attacking a superior officer?” Jazz looked at Mirage who scratched his neck uncomfortably but didn't deny it. But it sounded right. 

“The only reason he isn’t in the brig right now, commander, is because the Prime gave specific orders.” Red Alert handed Jazz a datapad with what looked to be said orders. “He’s off the hook except for no computer access without either of us present for a cycle." Jazz ignored Mirage’s childish “ _What?!_ ” and asked his own question.

“Anything else?” Prowl spoke up this time.

“Yes. Another one of your team, Smokescreen, was caught gambling and drinking in Mess Hall B and is currently missing.” Jazz bit back the urge to groan and instead smiled smugly.

“I’ll find hi-”

“ _Ratchet to Jazz._ ” What now?

“Jazz here.” He said instead. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Mirage stand up to try to listen better.

“ _You'd better get your mechs down here. B_ _umblebee’s waking up.”_

 


	3. Bees? Bee's.

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We see how Blurr's doing bedridden and Bumblebee wakes up. Kind of. In theory.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey-o!
> 
> Okay so I have news: 
> 
> I am planning two more stories because I literally cannot focus on one thing at a time. And I'm going to talk about them here because 1) I'm really excited about them and 2) shameless self promotion 
> 
> So the first one is a 10k-ish word one about IDW Knock Out and Breakdown. If you don't know them/don't read the comics that's okay! Read it anyways! It's pretty OC heavy, even though I don't like sticking ocs in my fanfics...
> 
>  
> 
> The other is one I'm Really excited about. It's gonna run along side this one (and possibly even cross over) but it's going to keep its own plot. It's gonna be a bit of a backstory for my sweet am baby child First Aid. Again, it steals ideas from the comics, but the plot is fling to be like this one: mostly independent of any continuity.
> 
> So look out for those and happy reading my dudes

“Blurr. You need to lie back.” First Aid, the same small medic who worked on his legs earlier, tried for the millionth time to get the agent to relax.

 

"NoIhavetocheckonBee.” Blurr was bigger and stronger and even in his drugged state was able to overpower First Aid. “HehastobefineandIhavetobesure.” His speech slurred from the anesthetics, which were starting to wear off. He managed to slide off and stand up, much to First Aid’s chagrin.

 

“If you don’t lie back down on your berth Ratchet will have both our heads! And I don't want-ugh!” First Aid tried to push Blurr back onto the berth but as soon as he let go, the both of them toppled to the ground. First Aid rolled Blurr off of him with a groan. “I _just_ fixed your legs,” He grunted as he pulled his own legs out from under the bigger mech. “You had two snapped pistons, seven torn fluid lines, three blown circuits, and half of your wires were missing! They are still healing!” A huff sounded from behind First Aid.

 

“You can’t reason with these kind of mechs, First Aid.” Ratchet came up from behind him to easily scoop up the crumpled form of Blurr and place him in a nearby wheelchair. “I’ve found that frontliners like him have this primal need to protect their own. Spec-Ops mechs are the ultimate front-liners, so you have to treat them like such.” And Ratchet began wheeling the half-conscious Blurr across the medbay. First Aid ran to catch up.

 

“It makes sense, I think.”

 

Blurr’s drugs were wearing off, so Ratchet made him promise not to go anywhere. And with the added threat of bodily harm, Blurr made clear he was content to sit in his chair in Bumblebee’s recovery room. So Ratchet left him in the room to talk to his friend. As soon as the door closed, First Aid’s questions started again.

 

“You never let anyone do that.”

 

"These are exentuous circumstances.”

 

“But Blurr’s legs?”

  
  
“As long as he stays in the chair, he’ll be fine.”

 

"What if he does use them?”

  
  
“Nothing good.”

 

“What’s up with those two?” That one made Ratchet pause.

 

“What’d you mean?”

 

First Aid paused, obviously not meaning to say that one out loud. He began again flustered. “I mean-um- well, Blurr was really persistent to get into Bumblebee’s room. I mean, something _has_ to be going on between the two, right?” Ratchet let out a small laugh before he could stop it. First Aid looked up at him in surprise.

 

"I swear, medics gossip more than younglings.” He said mostly to himself. “No, I’m sure nothing’s ‘going on’ between them. Trust me. I’ve seen sparkmates. They weren’t sparkmates, or even bonded.” He really shouldn’t be indulging his apprentice, but he hates the spreading of misinformation. That’s why he’s telling First Aid this. Definitely. “From what I’ve heard, Blurr was the one that saved Bumblebee’s life, and that the five or six of them are really close. Like, family close.”

 

“I see.” First Aid looked up at Ratchet with a rare smirk. “And you’re telling me this because…?”

 

“Tell your little gossip group you got the information from me, and you’re on bedpan duty, you hear?”

 

“Loud and clear, doc.” First Aid smiled a cheeky smile before leaving. Ratchet had to admit that the kid’s confidence levels were rising, and fast.

 

He shook his head and turned to see who’s next, but a loud crash from the recovery rooms answered that for him.

* * *

 

Blurr just wanted to move. He squirmed in his wheelchair. As the drugs wore off, he could feel himself becoming more like himself. Loud thoughts passed through his head, and he told them all to Bumblebee, even trying to go at a normal pace at first.

 

And after he ran out of thoughts, he went to stories. He told him about all the medics, about the parts of Iacon he saw himself and those that Mirage told him about. He told him about meeting the Prime.

 

And he apologized. A lot.

 

Soon, he ran out of stories about Iacon. But he was still restless and moved onto the next best thing. He talked about racing. About how he missed it and just wanted to get out to the tracks again. Race some worthy opponents. To go fast. To see the gates open and just _go_ . He talked about running. About driving. About jumping and moving and _going_ and how he’s stuck here, trapped on a chair made for tanks that are too scared to move faster than the absurdly low speed limit.

 

He just wanted to _walk_ again. And he knows that he promised the good doctor Ratchet he wouldn’t use his legs but when he proposed his idea to Bumblebee, he didn’t oppose it, so how bad can it be.

 

Of course, Bee can’t respond since he’s _unconscious_ but that didn’t stop Blurr. He pushed himself up and out of the wheelchair and supported himself on the berth. His legs, which were numb before, started to sting, and then burn. But Blurr grit his teeth and took a shaky step to the side. And again until he was on the other side of the berth.

 

He smiled. “OkayBee. Ididitnowit’syourturntogetbetterwhichstartsbywakinguppleasewakeu-”

 

His knee buckled from under him and he went down with a grunt. Of course, not before he brought down a tray of medical instruments.

 

The couple of medics that came in the room berated him for standing up. He knows he shouldn’t have.

 

As soon as he was settled back on his berth, he saw Ratchet start making his way over to him. The medic activated the privacy shield and pinched the space between his optics.

 

“What did I tell you to do? And what did I specifically tell you _not_ to do?” He huffed. “Your legs will recover. _You_ will recover. It will just take _time_ and _patience_.”

 

“Iamnotknownformypatience, doctor.” Blurr smiled but it turned into a grimace when Ratchet hit him.

 

“Just shut up and listen. I know you want to run again. I know you want to just hop on those speedy little legs of yours and run outta here and never look back. If I’m honest, that’s what I want, too.” He took a breath. Blurr looked down at his legs, ashamed that he lost the trust of this mech. But the medic’s next words surprised him.

 

“But every so often, you just need to slow down and take in the view.” And with that, Ratchet left.

 

So Blurr took to watching the medbay and occasionally talking with the mechs that filtered through. When Hound walked through the door, however, all that stopped.

 

“OhthankPrimus.” Hound sat down heavily in a chair next to Blurr’s berth.  “IthoughtIwasgoingtohavetotalktostrangersallday. DoyouknowwhereJazzisbecausehehasn’tcometoseemeyetandnowthatIthinkaboutitneitherhasSmokescreenorLongarmonlyyouandMirage.”

 

“Nah. I dunno where the mechs are. I don’t even know where their quarters are. This place’s huge, mech. ‘Raj and I share a room an’ he didn’t take too kindly to not knowin’ where th’ others’re at.”

 

“LetmeguessyoulostMirageashewenttogomendthesituationbyfindingwhoeverplannedoutherooms.” Blurr didn’t let Hound answer before he moved onto the next topic on his mind.“WhoamIroomingwithsincewe’reanoddnumberandbothBeeandIareinthemedbayyou’dthinkwe’dberoomingtogetherright?”

 

“I did. He did, I think. And if I remember correctly, you’re actually rooming with Longarm. Jazz gets his own room since he’s got a fancy title.”

 

“Luckyhim. Sowesharearoomwithonlyone-” The medbay’s sudden increase of volume caught both mech’s attention.

 

Blurr saw Jazz and Longarm enter the medbay for the first time. However, instead of walking over to Blurr, he watched as they approached the medic Ratchet.

 

The medic walked Jazz down the hall towards the private rooms, and Blurr knew something must have happened to Bee. Longarm made his way over to the two.

 

“Longarmwhat’shappeningwithBumblebee? Whathappened?” Blurr was already sitting up and Hound was standing at the foot of his berth.

 

Longarm let out a small, rare smile. “He's awake, Blurr.”

* * *

 

Jazz hated Iacon. It was too damn big. The trip to the medbay took way too long, even in alt mode.

 

Mirage was let off, and met with Jazz as soon as the cuffs were off. Longarm also met with them near the medbay after Jazz updated him.

 

Jazz made his way to Ratchet once the medbay doors opened for him. He didn't care about anything else, he just wanted to see his mech.

 

“Ratchet-” he called out. The mech in question turned and almost winced, if it wasn't for his professionalism.

 

“Jazz, wait a minute. You need to hear something first-” Jazz didn't care, however.

 

“You said he was awake. I want to see him.”

 

“He was. And you will. You just need to heat something first.” The old medic sighed. “We did everything we could.” Oh no. The words no one wants to hear. The words that means something went wrong. But Ratchet kept going. “It was a miracle he even survived surgery.”

 

“There's a ‘but’ comin’.” Jazz knew. He's been here before.

 

Ratchet nodded solemnly and led Jazz to Bumblebee’s room. “But there are some things we can't fix. Not with the supplies we have. Maybe with-”

 

They stopped outside a door. The medic looked into Jazz’s optics and it was then that Jazz realized just how exhausted the mech was. “He's mute, Jazz."

 

Everything seemed to stop.

 

Mute? How does-?

 

He remembered the treatments he saw Mirage and Hound give the two mechs on the transport to Iacon. He remembered how Mirage was worried about Bee’s neck.

 

“The voice box?” Ratchet nodded. “There's no way to fix it?” The exhale Ratch gave showed he'd been thinking about that all day.

 

“Voice boxes are notorious for being tricky things, for being almost impossible to fix. Jazz, we barely have enough supplies for emergencies. I was able to save his life, let's focus on that right now.” Ratchet placed a hand on Jazz’s shoulder, then was gone.

 

Jazz stared at the door. Past of him wanted to barge in right then, but half of him hesitated. Did Bumblebee know? Or will Jazz have to be the one to break it to him that he might never talk again?

 

“What do I do, Mirage?” The mech let his field fall and walked up to Jazz.

 

Mirage answered like he could read Jazz’s mind. “I think you should go in there. You need to go in there. The poor kid’s all alone with no voice. He needs someone he can trust.”

 

“Thanks, ‘Raj.” The mech smiled. “Now go see Blurr. Make sure he's okay. But don't tell them about Bee's condition, okay? Let me do that.” Mirage looked like he was going to argue, but nodded and left.

 

Jazz finally entered the room. Machines lined the room, off now after they aren't needed. Bumblebee himself looked barely alive, his biolights were dull and his optics were offline.

 

He was recharging. And Jazz couldn't blame him. So he sat in the seat next to the berth, held his hand, and slipped into recharge himself.  

 

He didn't question the blanket that was wrapped around him when he woke up.


	4. Can anything go right? Part 1

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We do some actual mission stuff, but a couple of dipshits ruin things.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's been so long, and I'm sorry
> 
> [insert generic excuse here]
> 
> But here I am. I have the next couple of chapters planned out and I should have a lot of free time so updates should be more regular
> 
> I wish this turned out better but here u go
> 
> TAKE IT

Howler watched as the new security system scanned the base's surroundings again and sighed. He got moved to TC 7 because he got a little angry and a little punchy. So now he's stuck on a base full of _sparklings_ who've never even seen a blaster let alone taken one up against a 'Con. And to add onto that he's on night shift with Nightshift. Who. Will. Not. Stop. Talking.

 

"And then," Nightshift's grating voice continued on the rant. "They had the _gall_ to replace me with a _glitch_ who can't tell the difference between a cassettecon and one of his own mechs!"  It was all he talked about. Howler, who's had enough, turned to the complaining mech.

 

"Well at least he _sees_ problems! Need I remind you, you let _several_ cons within a single _click_ of the _Prime_!" And so the argument took off.

 

Behind Howler, the proximity alarms went off. Neither seemed to notice.

 

 

* * *

 

“Yeah, sure. Go ahead and do that. Meanwhile, your brother is counting on you to shut down the security systems in the lower levels.” Smokescreen walked over to where Sunstreaker stood in the simulated hallway outside a Decepticon security office staring after a guard rotation.

 

Sidewipe’s voice crackled over the comm. “This is why  _I_  usually infiltrate the office and Sunny goes to retrieve the prisoner.” Smokescreen sighed. Sunstreaker finally managed to enter the office, and after taking out the guard (in an unnecessarily brutal way, might he add) shut down the security systems in the correct levels.

 

“Well, yeah, but what if the circumstances made it so that it was Sunstreaker in the office instead of you, and then what?” He could practically hear Sideswide try and fail to retort.

 

“Do you have the target?” Sunstreaker chose to ignore the two mechs.

 

“C’mon, ‘Streaker, use the name.”

 

“I am not using the name.”

 

“Please?”

 

“I. Am. Not. Using. The. Stupid. Name.”

 

“Well I'm not going any further until you use it.” Sunstreaker sighed heavily and looked to Smokescreen for support. Smokescreen suppressed the urge to laugh and instead opted for a shrug.

 

“Just do it.” He added. Sunstreaker rolled his eyes.

 

“Fine. Do you have ‘Mr. Sunshine Nugget III of Sugarvalley Meadows’?” Sunstreaker deadpanned. Muffled giggles filled the comm. as both Sideswipe and Smokescreen both tried to hide their amusement.

 

“Yeah, bro. I got Mr. Sunshine Nugget. On my way to the evac.” And with that, Sideswipe closed the comm. and Sunstreaker left the office to join up with him, but not before he shot out the security console. Alarms blared and Smokescreen followed Sunstreaker as neutral as he could with himself fighting the urge to shoot at the simulated cons.

 

Sunstreaker made his way through the bunker with Smokescreen in tow. In the last intersection before the exit, the two twins almost crashed into each other as Sideswipe rounded a corner.

 

“Sunny!” He shouted as a training level blaster fire hit him square in the chassis, almost causing him to drop the holomatter avatar of a generic frame leaning on him. “Slaggit, Sunstreaker! That fragging hurt!”

 

“Don't do that! You know how I can-” A shot whizzed by Sunstreaker’s helm and the mech reflexively  turned and shot down the small security team making their way down the hall.

 

“Don't you have an evac to make?” Smokescreen asked nonchalantly from where he stood off to the side.

 

“Yeah, right. Sunny, take his other arm.” The two frontliners carried the simulated mech out of the bunker and into the barren terrain outside. As soon as the computer registered them at a preprogrammed distance, the simulation dispersed. Sunstreaker and Sideswipe stuttered in their walk when the weight they were carrying suddenly disappeared. Sideswipe laid out on the hard ground of the training room. Sunstreaker was looking at Smokescreen expectedly.

 

“Well…” he began.

 

“Well?” Sunstreaker was impatient.

 

“Well, you did less bad…” Smokescreen’s voice was about an octave higher than normal.

 

Sideswipe groaned.  “But still bad.”

 

“Yeah.” Smokescreen didn’t argue. This was a beginner level program. These two should be breezing through it. But they relied on their battle computers too much. It was frustrating. Suddenly, Smokescreen had more respect for Jazz.

 

“But hey,” he began, trying to lighten the spirits of the frontliners. “At least you got the guy out alive this time. Last time you…” He trailed off. A comm. from Jazz summoning him to the spymaster’s office. The twins looked at him curiously. “I gotta go.” Was all he said before he was gone.

 

\---

 

Mirage was already at the office waiting. Apparently, he didn't have any information other than to meet at Jazz’s office ASAP and that they had a new mission, which was all that Smokescreen knew.

 

They entered together.

 

Smokescreen stopped when he saw the Prime, though a part of him knew that should they get a mission, the Prime would be present. But Prowl was a surprise. Smokescreen’s never really talked to the mech and knows him from reputation alone. And that reputation was one of a mech with a stick up his aft. He sure looked the part.

 

“Agent Smokescreen, Agent Mirage.” The Prime gestured for the two to have a seat.

 

“What can we do for you?” Smokescreen had never been one for formalities, and in times like this, he wished he wasn't like that.

 

The Prime didn't seem to mind, however. “We have been monitoring Decepticon activity in the western region of the Tetrahexian sand flats, and there's been a development.”

 

A hologram map of a base and the surrounding areas came to life on Jazz’s desk. “The base is TC 7, mostly a training facility, and rather a minor base in the grand scheme of things.” Jazz was stern and serious, a rare sight to behold for most mechs, but not for his team. “However, it became important exactly 3 and a half joors ago when a group of ‘cons invaded and took our mechs hostage, including our head of science division.” On the hologram, several hundred red dots converged on the base, coming from all sides.

 

Prowl spoke up next. “My calculations suggest a group of 243 foot soldiers stormed the base, overwhelming the transitioning security systems. The population of the base pre-attack was 781, however, should my calculations prove true, there sold be no more than 32 friendlies currently on the base.” Smokescreen felt his stomach drop. Primus. That was 749 mechs gone. Killed or MIA. Good mechs.

 

“Not to be rude or anything, but why are we being sent in instead of a larger force? They took our base, isn’t that enough to warrant-”

 

The Prime took over again. “We want to avoid an all out battle. The Decepticon High Command hasn't shown any sign of taking this further, or even if they are behind this. It's entirely possible this could be a rogue group.”

 

“Your mission is to infiltrate and rescue our top scientist, who went there to install the new security system. I’ll send you the specs. We need to know how many hostiles, how many friendlies, and if the ‘cons really are behind this.” Jazz said. “I'll send both of you reports on all the knowns and unknowns. Until then, be ready for anything.” Smokescreen nodded.

 

Mirage spoke up. “Back-up, sir?” Jazz shook his head.

 

“Not this time, agents.” The two looked at the Prime. “Our highest priority is to avoid an all out battle. We just don't have the resources after Tyger Pax. Should you be caught,” he paused, “you are to say you are here of your own jurisdiction. It must not get back to the Decepticons that we know about this.”

 

Smokescreen could feel Mirage looking at him. Slag. “Yessir.”

 

“Good. Dismissed.” Smokescreen and Mirage left the room in sync, their thoughts matching up perfectly.

 

They cannot fail.

 

* * *

 

Mirage and Smokescreen made the trip in silence, as per protocol. The base wasn’t too far away, it wasn’t on the other side of the planet, but it wasn’t right next door. It was a whole night’s travel, top speed, with no refueling breaks.

 

Cybertron was destroyed, and the desolate landscape didn't help with either of their moods. Smokescreen had friends stationed at TC 7. Not knowing if they were dead or alive was not helping. And a 26 joor drive across dreary landscape was perfect for minds to wander into dark thoughts.

 

At least Mirage was kept busy, often going out scouting and making sure no one was tracking their movement. Stealth was key. And to a lesser extent, keeping Mirage from getting too antsy was good too.

 

More often then not, Smokescreen found himself alone. The dim surroundings helped push his thoughts toward more depressing subjects. He thought about their little team and just how broken it was. He thought about what that one medic said about Bee. He tried not to think about how he won't be there when he wakes up. He thinks about the mission and the mechs lost there.

 

And then Mirage would come back and Smokescreen would acknowledge the report. Sometimes they would adjust their route before Mirage went off again, taking off without a sound.

 

They were only about five kliks out when they stopped for the first time. Both were running low on energy and they had to wait until night fell to continue to the base.

 

“The base is in visual range, if you want to take a look.” Carefully, Smokescreen peeked over the rock they were hiding behind.

 

There was no fire, no smoke, no sign of any kind that there had been a battle. The base looked normal, as if nothing had happened.

 

But upon closer inspection, Smokescreen could see  several guards with hubs stationed all around. Hee couldn't tell if they had the Decepticon insignia, but they obviously weren't Autobot.

 

“I count thirteen.” He said, ducking down.

 

“I counted seventeen but okay.” Smokescreen rolled his eyes, and looked over the rock again.

 

“Mech, there's only thirteen. I don't count wrong.” He ducked down again, but Mirage wasn't there. “Frag!” Mirage was light on his feet and left no footprints making it impossible to track where he has gone.

 

Worried that Mirage went to the base without him, he almost broke protocol opened a tight comm. before a small scuffle caught his attention.

 

A few rocks back, about half a click away, a mech was thrown to the ground. A few seconds later, a second was thrown on top of him.

 

They were being followed. Smokescreen cursed and pulled out his blaster. How did Mirage miss them?

 

He crept towards the two unnoticed. They were yelling but he count make any of it out. They clambered off of each other and stood back to back, their weapons sounded at nothing. Then, suddenly, one would fall and the other would fire his blaster at nothing. 

 

Smokescreen always found it funny watching Mirage work.

 

But then he got close enough to hear them.

 

“Primus, Sunny. What the fresh slag was that?” Smokescreen’s systems stuttered.

 

“I don't know! You tell me!” Sunstreaker's angry yelling jumpstarted his mind and he ran up to them.

 

He shoved Sunstreaker, who was closer, agaisnt the rock. “What the hell are you two doing?” Sunstreaker tried to shove him off but Smokescreen was having none of it.

 

Behind him, Sideswipe fell and Mirage materialized above him. “You know these two dumbafts?”

 

Smokescreen reluctantly let Sunstreaker go. “Yes.” Sunstreaker snarled and rubbed his neck where Smokescreen pressed against it.

 

Mirage backed off of Sideswipe. “The fact that he just snarled at you says otherwise.”

 

“I know them.” He glared at the two of them. “They're not a threat.”

 

Mirage ignored the twins’ offended 'hey!'s. “Not to us, maybe, but to the mission.” He pointed towards the base.

 

Someone saw the blaster fire and sent out a recon team. And said team was close enough to fire on them.

 

“Slag!” Smokescreen fell to the ground to avoid the fire. He heard some yells from behind him but didn't turn to see.

 

A con stepped off the transport right in front of his face.

 

“Look at what we have here, boys.” He brought the butt of his blaster down on his head and everything went black


End file.
